The Book of Love

The book of love is long and boring
No one can lift the damn thing
It's full of charts and facts and figures and instructions for dancing
-The Book of Love

I love my three boys in equal amounts but in separate ways.

Critter is affectionate, he abides by the rules. His version of "play" is to take care of his brothers, the bunny, the dog.

SmudgeE is all out. He dives head first into new situations. He tests boundaries. He gives kisses and fits and equal amounts.

Moose is easy going. He only cries when hungry or tired. Wet diaper, no big deal. He loves to look out the window. He giggles when someone touches his chin.

There is no way for me to list every single thing I love about each of my children. Every day they do something new that causes my heart to melt. New words, movements, understandings...the list could reach the moon.

My hope is that they are happy. That they know I love them. That they love each other.

I think my hope is already a truth.

The book of love is long and boring
No one can lift the damn thing
It's full of charts and facts and figures and instructions for dancing
-The Book of Love

The book of my boys is long. It's not boring to me.
If I listed all that I love about my kids I couldn't lift the pages.
I've got notebooks filled with facts about first words, first steps... and even videos of first dances.

A mama's love knows no boundaries. There are no limits, nothing too big, nothing too small.

Bouncing is what Tiggers do best!

Earlier tonight I was writing a post to a Mama's Group I am fortunate (and unfortunately) a part of. We are all mothers who were to have babies in May of 2008. We didn't have those babies, but now we have one another.

In the aftermath of writing a "woe is me" post in our group forum, about Moose still being hospitalized and Critter and Smudge being without me most of every day, I realized just how lucky I really am.

Though I struggled, and still do, with my initial loss, I gained so much. If it weren't for Oscar, I wouldn't have the support group I do now. I wouldn't have Critter, Smudge, or Moose. If everything in my life hadn't played out exactly how it did, I wouldn't have the life that I have right this moment. And my life at this moment is pretty flipping awesome.

I have babies born 13 months and 10 months apart. How many Mamas can say that?

I have a group of friends who know where I'm coming from. They validate me and challenge me and chat with me when my country is asleep.

As stressful as these last few weeks have been, I know me, and I know that one day I'm going to look back and wish I were here again.

I want to hold on to each second of every day. There is a chance that I'll never again be this burdened or this blessed.

Electrical Tape Isn't Just for Wire: Sticking It to Them When They Stick It to You at Target

I admit. Pre-Critter I was one of those superior Mommies-to-be. You know, the one who won't turn on the TV, or feed junk foods, or Heaven forbid, allow their child to pitch a fit.

Fast forward til yesterday found me at the local Target, deeply engrossed in the mind numbing task of deciding whether or not the more expensive baby detergent is really worth the extra 3 bucks and if I don't dish out the dollars, does that indeed make me a Bad Mother. (Answers: no it is not, and maybe)

Then, the phone in my pocket began to ring. Critter's beady little eyes zeroed in on my right hip while I began to furiously run through my mental list of evasive maneuvers. The battle line had been drawn. He wanted the phone because the buttons beep and the screen lights up. I didn't want him to have it because he reprograms my emergency contact from Husband to the To Go phone at my favorite lunch spot. And while the craving for a dill tomato sandwich constitutes an emergency to me, I don't want the gum snapping teenager at the sandwich counter making any snap decisions regarding my vegetative state.

I pulled out the cell just as the call went to voicemail. Dang. Now he'd seen the thing and I didn't even get the chance to talk to the caller.

In my best Superior Mommy voice I told him "No, Critter. This is Mama's phone. Not a toy. You may play with your phone." I handed him his Playskool cell that calls some crazy cartoon duck and he deliberately dropped it to the floor while eyeing my LG.

At my firmest "No!" he reached out and intentionally smacked my phone to the floor. I could read the thought bubble above his demonic head: "If I can't have it, can't no body have it." The bubble even contained the eye cutting that I hadn't penciled into his schedule for another 14 years.

I retrieved the phone and stuck it back into my pocket. Seeing his favorite play thing disappear caused his bottom lip to began to jut out. Crud. I realized I had about .2 seconds until the sounds started. I hastily looked around for witnesses, hoping to find myself alone. No such luck. At Target in suburbia with a fit-pitching-baby, I'm just lucky my in-laws and pastor weren't hanging out by the aisle end cap.

As the wailing began I tried desperately to decide what I could do. My first thought was to book it to the school supply section and get some scotch tape to silence that fat lip and it's partner in crime. I wasted another valuable few seconds trying to decide if the store security guys would turn the surveillance tape into child protective services if I went with this option.

I admit. It wasn't the thought that I would be portrayed on every major news station across America as the nut-job-mouth-taping mommy that stopped me. It was the knowledge that scotch tape loses it's sticky within seconds of coming into contact with spit. Electrical tape holds much better.

Boo On Poo: How I Learned Never To Leave the House Without an Extra Onesie

This morning my mom called to tell me that she was playing hooky from work and wanted to go shopping and out to lunch, would I like to come? Critter and I were in the car before I finished drying my hair. Nothing says Happy Friday like free lunch.

As Madre and I were finishing eating, we noticed Critter was turning a funny purple color. I leaped up and pounded him on the back thinking that he was choking on a cheerio. He returned to a normal shade and I returned to my seat, only to have him do another Barney impression a couple of minutes later. Before I could dial 911 my mother informed me that she thought he was "making number 2." Which she said just like that: making number 2.

When we were done with lunch and Critter had gone through several rounds of color change theory, Madre volunteered to take him out to the car and change him while I cleaned up the table. I threw the trash away, refilled my drink, went to the restroom, and ran into and chatted with a friend before finally making it out to the parking lot. So, I was pretty surprised to see my mom standing by the back door instead of huffily waiting in the passenger seat.

As I rounded the front of the car I could see that she was gingerly holding up a giggling Critter by the feet. "What the....?" I started to ask. I was cut short, however, by the shock of noticing that Critter appeared to have had a run in with the crazy-eyed spray tan lady at our local Ultra Tan. A second later, I figured it out. Critter had poo (POO!!) smeared all over his legs and stomach. I then noticed that his onsie, which had been a cream color at lunch but was now closer to that of mud, in a heap on the pavement.

My mom narrowed her eyes at me. "We need napkins." She growled. "And a cup of water." The travel wipes box lay empty about a foot from the mud onsie. I turned on my heel and scampered back into the restaurant before she could demand that I hold his feet.

As I got back to the parking lot, I could see my mom shaking her head while a group of teenaged girls walked by laughing. When they passed I heard one saying "Eww, that is so gross! I am so never having kids!"

"Girlie," I wanted to say "I'm in total agreement."

Mama's Most Wanted List

Critter Smith, born in September, seemed like the world's best baby. He started sleeping through the night when he was only a few weeks old and he rarely ever cried.



"He was the quietest baby," a neighbor recalls. "Never heard a peep from him."



His Abuela remembers that "He always woke with a smile. Just the sweetest personality ever."



No one knew that something sinister was lurking underneath that rosy cheeked exterior. However, strange occurances began around the time Critter reached the 4 month mark. At first, no one thought any thing of it. But, as coins continuously seemed to disappear from nightstands and scraps of paper seemed to magically fly from the floor, friends and family began to become suspicious.



His mother, ever the supporter of her Crittopotamus, refused to listen to the whispers. "You just misplace things!" she'd snap at Mr. Critter's Daddy when he mentioned the disappearances.



By 6 months, chapsticks and cell phones were missing from purses. Pens were gone from shirt pockets. The Bumpasses even began sniffing around for lost liver snaps. Still, Critter's Mama would hear no ill talk of her sweet baby boy. "Everyone around me's going crazy" she'd muse. "I don't know why they gang up on Critter so."



Last Thursday, Critter's Mama could deny the accusations no longer when she found this shoved deep in his Chipmunk Cheek.



Alas, Critter had graduated from Petty Larceny to Grand Theft Diamond.



He served the maximum allowable sentence of 2 hours in the (play) Pen while his Mama baby proofed the home.

The HazMat Team's Coming to Take Me Away

Hello Mamahood, Good Bye "Me" Time





David has been out of town this week, leaving me with one sick, cranky Critter to deal with alone. Normally, when faced with an absent husband, I turn to my mom for support and dinner. But she's out of town, too. Which means I haven't showered since Monday. Today is Friday. It also means that I haven't eaten anything but french fries and Pop Tarts in as many days.



Madre called me yesterday from her educators conference to tell me that the human brain starts to have reduced function when one is hungry, tired, and/or lonely. Which would explain why, this morning, when I got dressed, it took me 5 minutes to realize that the problem with my thong underwear was that I'd put it on backwards.

Well, I Guess We're Not Going To Have To Send

This One to College

I assumed after the coin eating incident Husband had learned his lesson about leaving Critter unattended in our bed. David assumed that if he swaddled Critter tight enough, Critter wouldn't be mobile. A loud THUNK! followed by an even louder wail taught us both what happens when one assumes.

We raced into our bedroom to discover Critter on the floor screaming his dented head off. I scooped my Precious off the hardwood and turned on Husband in fury.

"What if he's cracked his skull?!? What if his brain is bleeding?!? What if he has brain damage and doesn't get accepted into the NASA program and never makes millions of dollars and can't buy me a beach house?!?"

David looked at me with an expression of equal guilt and fear. Suddenly his expression brightened. "Well, at least he's learned a lesson in gravity!" he chirped.

Men.

And the Slack Mama Award Goes To...

...ME!!!

This afternoon I put Critter down for a nap in our bed. I know, I know, never leave a baby alone anywhere but his crib. DSS is on their way over here as I type. But, once Critter falls asleep, he doesn't move. At all. You have to check to make sure he's still breathing by holding a mirror to his nose, so it's never been a problem for him to nap there before.

Anyhoo, after putting him down I returned to the livingroom to try to organize the Fisher Price explosion. I realized, after a while, that I kept hearing a tinkling, clacking sound. Now, at first, I thought nothing of it. After living with a husband, a baby, and two dogs, I'm fairly used to tuning out background noise. However, after several more minutes, it occured to my fog-riddled brain that the sound was coming from the master bedroom. After another slow-gear-grinding minute or two, my brain clicked.

"The baby's alone in there!! The BABY must be making that sound!" my brain screamed to me.

I ran in there to discover this scene:



Yep, that's my Precious with a fistful of change that Darling Husband left on his nightstand.

Ironically, that's the video monitor receiver in the charging station. Maybe I should've used it today...

Babies Don't Like Lemons

'Nough said.